Memories
by hijinklum
Summary: Sometimes, memories of happier days can be the only things keeping us going.
1. Mountains

Her first memories were of wandering the marble halls of Tronjheim, running her hands along the cool walls, marvelling about how the dwarves, only a head or so taller than she was, had crafted such an amazing place, so beautiful and so extremely exact.

She remembered walking through the streets, talking to the dwarf women with their long hair and stone jewellery, playing with their children, and watching the men work at small pieces of stone, turning a chunk of alabaster into a bird in flight, or perhaps a piece of red granite into a bear, roaring his challenge to the sky.

Twenty-five years later, Nasuada stood inside Farthen Dur once again, watching the place she had spent so much of her childhood being turned into so much rubble.

Sunlight poured through the massive wound that ivory claws had rent into the side of the Father mountain, glinting off of the giant golden griffins inside of the mountain, the protectors of the paths.

A single, diamond tear rolled down her face and she turned away, the much-too-tight manacles 'round her wrists clinking together merrily, like some kind of warped bells, oblivious to the pain that was ripping through her very soul.

As she stepped away, the Red soldiers sent to guard her sneering and laughing, four quiet words slipped from her lips.

"How could you Eragon?".

**AN: Oui, it's another story. Depending on the reception this chapter gets, I may or may not write more. More characters, more memories. Any ideas for me, O reviewers?**


	2. Soul

His favourite memory was of the months when Thorn was still small.

His life, up until then, had been full of darkness, pain and misery. The day that little red dragon fell, rather clumsily, from his egg was the day he gained that tiny amount of ground against the pain, a ray of light inside the darkness. He had been a funny little thing, stumbling around, poking his nose into everything he could see, before reaching out to sniff his hand, cheekily batting at it with his paw, sending the agonising jolt through his arm, making his whole body tingle for several hours following.

In the days after he hatched, her grew to about the size of one of those monster rabbits the peasants kept to eat, but he had the bravado of a dragon much older, and larger, than he. Growling at the palace dogs and getting scared as a result was an everyday occurrence, until Galbatorix had started to force his growth, and all of a sudden there was a dragon the size of a pony charging through one wing of the palace, hot on the heels of one or more startled hounds, his wings flared open, his jaws snapping closed an inch behind their tails.

Seeing that little dragon, the other half of his soul, was the only thing that could make him smile after abuse by Galbatorix, or having those stupid palace guards lay into him. That little dragon was the only reason he stayed alive.

And so, not even two years later, seeing half of his soul chained, bleeding and screeching rent his heart into a million pieces. The fact that he was not able to do a single thing took those tiny pieces and turned them to dust. Who was it that was inflicting this agony upon him, rending his heart and soul apart? His half-brother, once so innocent, the one who was going to save their world, was torturing both him and Thorn with not a single emotion on his face.

Soon enough, Thorn's eyelids started to slide closed, hiding the pain from his Rider in one last attempt to make him happy. Murtagh struggled against his bonds, only to find himself able to move. Without conscious thought, he raced towards his dragon, thudding to his knees next to him.

Murtagh had been there him when he was born, and now he held him as he died.

**A/N: This was really hard for me to write. I dunno why, it just was. I have the next chapter ready, so I can update when I so please. *Please note that reviews speed up the update process!* **


	3. Family

Her favourite memories were from the peaceful years before she joined the war, while she was still a child, and her family was whole. A time before thoughts of Galbatorix, Eragon and the Varden had consumed both her conscious and unconscious thoughts. The time when her nightmares were easily soothed by a warm embrace from her mother, or her father running his hands over her hair, whispering sweet nothings in her ears.

She, her Mother and Father had often forayed into the thick forest surrounding the city, spending hours chasing each other through the cool, soft grass, picking daisies and the occasional stray rose, learning small pieces of magic, or simply spending time together.

Those were the days when she had loved and hated openly, before the events that had slowly but surely closed her off from the world, hidden behind a mask of ice and stone.

Today she stood in the forest surrounding her home once again, blood dripping from a cut high on her brow, her bow in her hands, an arrow nocked, and her ears straining to pick up the faintest clue as to where the bastard soldiers were. Their red tunics should be showing up like, well, fire against a forest, but for some stupid reason they weren't.

Somewhere to her right, a branch snapped loudly, and she whipped around, arrow fletching grazing her cheek. Who she saw standing there nearly knocked the air from her lungs. Eragon and Saphira stood there, a sneer upon the man's lips, and a malicious light in the dragon's previously warm eyes.

And then, it hit her. They were well and truly slaves to Galbatorix, their hearts and minds warped by the darkness of the King's own heart.

She snarled, pointing the arrow at his heart and releasing it. A moment later, it stopped about a foot away from its target, and dropped to the ground. He looked at it, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth. He looked up, eyes boring into her soul, scaring her in a way they hadn't before. Barely opening his mouth, he quietly murmured a few words that she couldn't discern.

Arya was dead before she hit the ground.

**A/N: Ta da. This was so much easier to write than last chapter, probably because I've been in Arya's head so much while writing the horrid Emerald Rider. Which, by the way, I DO plan on finishing, and eventually re-writing, much, much better. Tell me, any suggestions as to who's POV I should write next? Reviews are love, and love makes the worl go 'round. Not to mention they make me update faster!**


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